


50 Types of Kisses Prompt #6

by scriveyner (trismegistus)



Series: Voltron Fic Collection [46]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Selkie Lance (Voltron), Sickfic, Werewolf Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trismegistus/pseuds/scriveyner
Summary: “What are you trying to say about my culinary skills?” Shiro asked, eyebrow raised, and Lance stuck his tongue out emphatically. “I see how it is.”Lance eyed him. “Shiro, I love you very much but you can’t cook for shit.”
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Voltron Fic Collection [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/496336
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	50 Types of Kisses Prompt #6

“Go ‘way,” Lance grumbled when Shiro cracked the door to the bedroom to peek inside. The lights were off, and the only bit of Lance he could actually see was one bare foot out from under the comforter, hooked over the side of the mattress.  
  
Before Shiro could make any sort of plans involving a cold wet dog nose and bare feet Lance shifted and pulled his exposed extremity back into the cocoon of warmth. That shifting seemed to irritate the crud in his lungs, though, and set off a hacking cough that only ended when he flung himself upright to clear his airways.  
  
“You sound wonderful,” Shiro said, and nudged the door the rest of the way open, cutting a stripe of bright light across the bed. Lance squinted and glared at him, clearly unhappy about the intrusion; and his attention fell on the tray that Shiro was carrying in both hands.  
  
“What’s that?” he croaked, sounded miserable.  
  
“Soup,” Shiro said cheerfully, and elbowed the light switch. Lance hissed and buried his face in his knees when the overhead light came on, and didn’t raise his head when Shiro bustled into the room, standing expectantly over the bed with his tray of nourishment.  
  
“Don’t want any,” Lance muttered.  
  
“You haven’t eaten all day,” Shiro said sternly. “Soup is good for when you’re sick, and you need to stay hydrated, Lance.”  
  
“I’m plenty hydrated.”  
  
“Sleeping in the bath doesn’t count and _please_ don’t do that again, it scared the shit out of me. I thought you’d drowned.”  
  
“A selkie drowning, that’s rich.”  
  
“ _Lance._ ”  
  
Lance pulled the comforter over his head like a shawl, and glowered at Shiro from underneath it. He remained upright though, and Shiro took that as invitation to seat himself on the mattress in front of Lance, holding the tray on his lap. He watched Lance try not to look interested at what was on the tray. “You didn’t make that, did you?” he asked, suspiciously.  
  
“What are you trying to say about my culinary skills?” Shiro asked, eyebrow raised, and Lance stuck his tongue out emphatically. “I see how it is.”  
  
Lance eyed him. “Shiro, I love you very much but you can’t cook for shit.”  
  
Shiro laughed at that. “I went into town while you were sleeping.” And coughing, and retching, and sounding so much like death entombed in Shiro’s bedroom he tried getting a hold of Keith twice. “Hunk made it special for you, said that it would help you feel better.”  
  
Lance brightened considerably. “ _Hunk_ made it?”  
  
“And gave me strict instructions that you were to finish the entire serving.”  
  
Somehow Lance went from cocooned within the heavy blanket to his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, nuzzling his cheek to Shiro’s. There had to be some manner of sorcery in that, because Shiro would have ended up flat on his face tangled in the blankets. Shiro laughed again as Lance peppered his face with kisses. “You got _Hunk_ to make me soup, and you brought it here,” Lance said again, and hesitated, his nose brushing Shiro’s, eyes widening when he realized how close he was.  
  
“Werewolves don’t get sick,” Shiro said, still smiling, one hand steadying the tray but the other cupping Lance’s face.  
  
Lance took the invitation, kissing Shiro tentatively at first and then again with less hesitation – at least until the coughing seized him again and he backed off, doubling over as Shiro rubbed his back sympathetically. Lance sipped the tea Shiro had brought gratefully, and croaked, “don’t blame me when you get sick too.”  
  
“I _literally_ just told you werewolves don’t get sick,” Shiro said. “I haven’t had so much as a sniffle in a decade, easily.”  
  
Lance sipped his tea and nodded, before leaning up against Shiro’s side and putting his head on Shiro’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Shiro leaned his head against the crown of Lance’s, smiled and kissed him there.  
  
“Come on now,” he said. “Eat up.”

#

“Of _course_ werewolves can get sick,” Keith said, irritated, on speakerphone. Lance had the phone pointed at the piled of blankets in the corner, out of which poked a white snout, and nothing more. “Is he an idiot?”  
  
“Yes,” Lance said, and sighed. “he is.”

**Author's Note:**

> naruaku asked for prompt #6: Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.


End file.
